


A King's Creed

by MxnicStxr



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23357872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxnicStxr/pseuds/MxnicStxr
Summary: Jhin reconnects with his estranged older brother under nefarious circumstances. His older brother also happens to be a dick.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. No Rest For The Wicked

Khada Jhin hanged himself in his cell.

The panic spread faster than a wildfire, and soon enough the flames reached so high they alerted Ionia’s Cabal, most importantly the one spearheading it – Nabīl Malek.

Nabīl was a busy man. Petty inconveniences such as an inmate taking their own life behind the walls of Tuula Prison didn’t concern him when he had better things to do, matters that outweighed the insignificance of a murderer’s or a rapist’s pathetic… escape.

But this one. Nabīl won’t let him choose the easy way out, no. Not when this particular inmate could become Nabīl’s most valuable trump card. Not when he could still be _**useful**_.

The man sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. _“What a mess…”_ Nabīl muttered to himself before rising from his chair. At this rate he could only hope the halfwits working the prison reached Jhin in time. That it’s not too late. That his plan could still work.

Traveling secretly proved to be difficult when he needed to reach Tuula _**fast**_. Most roads leading down to the prison were either obstructed or occupied by Noxian guerrilla, forcing Nabīl to get there by boat. Nabīl wasn’t a stranger to sailing, the only thing keeping him on his toes being the Noxians who might spot Nabīl‘s sailboat. He only knew he was safe once he reached the alcove right beneath the prison itself.

Nabīl had no time to waste. The moment he got off the boat he asked to be escorted to Tuula’s infirmary, wanting to see for himself whether the Golden Demon was resting everything off or being wrapped up and prepared for cremation. The poor guard was unable to keep up with Nabīl from how fast he walked, following the directions given to him while ignoring his escort almost entirely.

Nabīl shoved one of the monks out of his way upon entering the infirmary, expecting the worst.

But Jhin was right there, lying motionless and unresponsive while the healers did whatever was in their power to resuscitate him. Jhin was dying, yes, but he wasn’t quite dead _**yet**_. Nabīl could feel it in his bones, in his chest – the familiar warmth shared only between those bearing their family’s Magic Crest, no matter how weak Nabīl‘s was.

All he needed to do was get close enough for Jhin’s hypersensitive Magic Circuits to pick up Nabīl‘s signal.


	2. The Tamura Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAVE SOME LORE IN THIRD-PERSON NARRATION! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

_On the surface, their parents seemed normal. Beneath it, their father was strict, domineering, and verbally abusive. Physically too, at times when he felt like his sons were being too unruly, which in Nabīl’s case was every other day._

_On top of that, their mother was emotionally unstable and completely unpredictable. She could be all smiles and laughter one moment and then burst into tears less than five minutes later. Their parents argued and fought rather often, but what united them both were the impossibly high standards they set for their children, alongside the unrealistic expectations Jhin and Nabīl were incessantly forced to live up to._

_Both brothers were exemplary students from a very young age but Jhin was the one born bearing their family’s Magic Crest and therefore viewed as the gifted one, the favorite, the prodigy. It made Nabīl’s blood boil, for he was born with only a fraction of a fraction of said Crest. Nabīl was still expected to outperform his peers in every way and nothing short of perfection was acceptable. And what Nabīl hated most was the fact that when his little brother would come back with their equivalent to an A Jhin would be praised and fawned over, whereas under the exact same circumstances Nabīl would be severely punished for it not being an A+._

_What their father wanted was a legacy, and all their mother wished for were perfect children she could show off like something akin to an exotic pet. After Nabīl packed up and left, followed by their mother’s passing, Jhin got stuck with enduring their father’s temper and enmity all on his own. But While Nabīl chose to leave and achieve greatness elsewhere, Jhin stayed and patiently waited for the old man to finally die. He had his own plans that were put on the back burner for years, and with his parents dead and his brother gone he could do whatever he damn well pleased. He was overjoyed. But Jhin’s relationship with Nabīl left a bad taste in his mouth regardless._

_Jhin outright despised Nabīl. He felt inferior to him because while Jhin was busy playing with old knives, Nabīl took over Ionia’s Ruling Council. While Jhin wore cheap fabrics and rags, Nabīl donned the finest of silks. While Jhin was being spat at, stepped on, and raped in Tuula Prison for six years, Nabīl was planning his next move in the war effort against the Noxian Empire. While Jhin ate food scraps off the floor, Nabīl was dining with the elite, going to sleep on a full stomach, while Jhin starved and began rapidly losing weight. But without Nabīl Jhin would likely be dead. And yet Jhin doesn’t have it in him to feel grateful for it._

_Jhin resents his brother for straight up using him as if he was just another chess piece on Nabīl’s twisted planning board. He resents him for leaving him to deal with their parents’ abuse on his own when Jhin was but a child, 30-odd years ago. He resents him because he knows that he owes Nabīl his life and that he’s the only thing in this world that granted him purpose – the only reason he’s even worth anything to begin with. But most of all,_

_Jhin resents him because deep down inside he still feels the unbearable need to get down on his knees to kiss the ground Nabīl Malek walks on and worship him like a God._


	3. Destruction And Rebirth

When Jhin drew his very first breath ever since losing consciousness the entirety of his body burned white-hot. It felt as if he was doused in boiling oil or a very generous amount of molten metal, the pain engulfing him, suffocating him, to the point where all Jhin could do was writhe in agony.

_"Newborns shriek and cry when they first enter this world because they are in pain. Did you know that?"_

The sultry voice of a man pulled Jhin's consciousness out of the haze it was stuck in and forced him to realize that he was still, in fact, alive. And the moment it dawned on him – that his suicide attempt was interrupted, that he was brought back from the brink of death – Jhin balled his hands into tight fists and screamed his throat hoarse, whatever air he managed to fill his damaged lungs with now used up by the raw fury that seized his chest as he wailed.

 _" **Why?!** "_ Jhin cried out, his eyes welling with tears when he finally turned his head to face the stranger at his bedside

_"Why bring me back?! Haven't you done enough?! Haven't you hurt and humiliated me enough you sadistic son of a Noxian whore?!"_

Gritting his teeth, Jhin bared them and made an attempt to sit upright but found himself unable to do so – he was strapped to the bed, all four of his limbs restrained to it by his ankles and wrists. Enraged, he put up a fierce fight against the straps that held him in place much like a captured animal would. It was futile, however. All Jhin really got out of this was a wave of fatigue that left him lightheaded, accompanied by his now aching joints and chafed, irritated skin.

This entire time the stranger remained silent, simply observing Jhin's breakdown and waiting it out with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looked almost satisfied with what he just witnessed – like it was exactly what he was looking for upon arriving at Tuula's medical wing.

Finally, the man stood up and got closer to Jhin's bed, peering down at him. Triumph twinkled in the stranger's eyes. It made Jhin curl into himself as much as he was able to. His gaze made Jhin's stomach churn – something about these eyes felt familiar to him, even if the rest did not. It made him extremely uncomfortable. It made him feel vulnerable and _**weak**_.

_"On the contrary, little Zak."_ The stranger cooed. 

_**We have only just begun.** "_


	4. First They Stripped Him Of His Gear

**_Then they stripped him of his clothes._**

**_And then they stripped him of his dignity._**

————

_Tuula Prison was supposed to be **humane** , but the public menace Khada Jhin was an exception to this rule it seems. He was treated just like any other prisoner no matter how respected and renowned the Great Master Kusho was across all of Ionia, the Eye of Twilight’s reputation only slightly exceeding that of the serial killer. Jhin’s presence at the prison was to be kept in secret, the only ones privileged enough – or unfortunate enough, depending on who you ask – to be entrusted with this knowledge were a few carefully selected wardens, the monks in charge of Jhin’s enrichment programs, and Kusho himself alongside his disciples, Shen and Usan._

_Usan wanted Jhin dead, that much he knew. And for a good while Jhin cursed Kusho for preventing the young man from taking his life. Everything, anything, was better than rotting in some isolated prison cell, where the only things keeping Jhin company were his own aberrant mind and the ever-present wardens patrolling the prison’s halls._

_The monks volunteering at the prison were benevolent and treated Jhin like a person in need of help. They always went out of their way to ensure he was as comfortable as he could be while serving his time in prison, taking care of his health and general well-being – they were kind, and patient, virtues that none of the wardens possessed. To them, Jhin was nothing but a rotten apple who got what he deserved. They made jokes at his expense, shoved him, teased him, doing everything in their power to make Jhin finally snap and give them the excuse to get violent under the guise of harsh discipline. Whenever the monks weren’t looking the wardens were always there to make sure Jhin knew his place – down on the floor, alongside the roaches and rats._

_Jhin did his best to suck it all up and take it in stride. He did his best to remain calm and collected even when they spat in his face and pissed in his food. He didn’t want to let it show just how broken his spirit really was the longer the abuse went on, nor give them the pleasure of seeing him crumble. He would put on a smile, was always mild-mannered and polite, never raising his voice, never raising his hand or putting up any sort of fight against the bastards who made his life miserable. The monks did know of this, of course, but they couldn’t really do much either. After all, they were just volunteers. They didn’t actually belong to the prison’s workforce, therefore having no say in the way the wardens treated its inmates. All they could do was minimize the damage done – not prevent it._

_Despite all this, Jhin found solace in the prison’s various rehabilitation activities. He was allowed to read and write, paint, exercise, sing, and dance – it proved itself to be a good enough distraction from the environment he was in and, most importantly, gave him a break from the wardens as he was granted some amount of privacy when engaged in creative work so long as he didn’t misbehave. It also helped distract him from the suicidal thoughts that put down their roots in the back of Jhin’s mind. They rose up to the surface every now and again, and on these days Jhin found it hard to even pick up a brush when all he could think of was just how much he was **hurting**. His depression didn’t go unnoticed by the monks, who did their best to help, but the fact of the matter was that as long as Jhin was imprisoned, as long as he was being denied the euphoria of performance and abused by the wardens on an almost daily basis, he will slowly wither away into nothing. Jhin’s once sparkling eyes have now turned dim with sorrow – he grew tired of living the way he did, feeling purposeless, dejected, and glum._

_In addition to becoming acquainted with someone who crushed whatever Jhin still had left of his will to live._


	5. More Questions Than Answers

It took a few extra days for Jhin to fully recover, and about another week until he could be trusted not to hurt himself again. Nabīl supervised the entire process, of course. Nothing was to be omitted from him when he was pulling the strings behind Khada Jhin’s release. What the others didn’t know was the fact they were blood relatives and Nabīl planned to keep it that way. It would only make things harder than they already were if word of it got out and reached the wrong ears.

But Nabīl was good at silencing people when he wanted to. Sometimes too effectively.

Jhin, meanwhile, turned down any offers of hospitality and care made to him by the monks. He refused to eat, bathe, or sleep, claiming that exchanging the conscious nightmare he was in for an unconscious one wasn’t worth the risk. All he did was curl into a ball in the darkest corner of his cell and weep.

He didn’t know what to make of his brother’s return or any of his actions for that matter. How did he manage to weasel his way into one of Ionia’s strongest governing bodies? How did he know that the masked menace Khada Jhin was in fact his little brother? How did he know he was in Tuula? How did he know the execution was a sham?

Did Nabīl know that Jhin was being tortured and abused for fun? Did Nabīl know who his abusers were? Their names? Their faces?

Their families?

Jhin grabbed a fistful of his own unkempt hair and pulled, hard, squeezing his damp eyes shut. There was something about Nabīl that unnerved Jhin and made him feel small and helpless, like the crybaby he once was several decades ago when Nabīl and him were kids. They were polar opposites both then and now, evident by the sheer amount of self-confidence radiating from Nabīl that contrasted Jhin's broken spirit like shadow and light. Nabīl was steadfast and unyielding whereas Jhin would submit just to dull some of the pain that was being inflicted on him by the wardens. Nabīl showed courage where Jhin would cower, and it made him feel inferior, lesser.

_**Subhuman.** _

Jhin let go of his hair and with his tightly clenched fist he hit the concrete wall instead. He hit it again, and again, and again, until the pain in his wrist was too unbearable for him to keep going. More tears came scorching their way down Jhin's reddened face as he did so.

Nothing could have prepared him for any of this. Only the chaos in Jhin’s mind outmatched the chaos all around him, and he couldn’t tell which of them scared him more – his own racing thoughts or Nabīl’s true intentions, whatever they might be. Because Jhin knew for certain that this wasn’t a heart-rending family reunion. If that would be the case it wouldn’t have taken Nabīl six fucking years to bail his brother out.

No, there was absolutely no love between them – just the tension and mind games you’d expect when you put two pathological egotists in the same room.


	6. Punish The Hypocrite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Rape. That's it, that's all the summary you need. Just. TW: Rape.

_The assault almost felt like it came out of nowhere, but it was preceded by the most vile and depraved form of foreplay Jhin could ever imagine. The Virtuoso already grew accustomed to being treated like vermin, but this one – this one treated him like an object, like he was something so evil, so foul, that he didn’t even deserve to be acknowledged as a living being._

_Jhin was asleep in his bed when it happened. It was one of those nights when you can’t find it in you to shut your eyes – something felt wrong, awfully wrong, but Jhin didn’t know what it was exactly that kept him from falling asleep. Something, a gut feeling, told him he should stay vigilant no matter the cost, and yet his eyelids grew heavier and heavier the longer he tried to resist sleep. But even when Jhin’s body gave in to exhaustion his mind did not, still waiting for whatever impending threat Jhin was anticipating to jump out of the shadows. And it did. But it was in the form of a man, one of the wardens, that specific one, the one who made it clear he would show Jhin no mercy under any circumstances. The one Jhin feared most._

_He dragged Jhin out of bed by the hair and struck at his head and his face before the latter could even fully register what was happening. Jhin tried crying for help but he was silenced soon after, having the wind knocked out of him and his throat seized shut. There was no mistaking the venom in the warden’s voice when he spoke and to this day Jhin can’t recall whether or not it was personal – did he kill someone who was important to that man? Was that the reason behind what he did next?_

_Does it matter at all?_

_Jhin was backed up against the wall, crawling on his hands and knees in a futile attempt to get as far away from the warden as he physically could. It was the first time in a long time Jhin actually put up a fight against his assailants but it was as pathetic as it was futile, the warden clearly having the upper hand and using Jhin’s sheer panic to his advantage. He didn’t care how much Jhin begged, he didn’t care how much Jhin apologized for actions unspecified. He didn’t care when the man broke into tears the moment his clothes were torn off his body. He didn’t care when Jhin kept pleading for him to stop._

_He didn’t care when Jhin asked to be killed instead._

_After the warden had his fill he left Jhin lying on the floor, black and blue and bloody, curled up in a ball sobbing for hours. Any evidence of the assault was wiped out of existence and the monks only got a half-truth, that one of the other wardens lost his cool and beat him senseless. The true extent of it however remained only between Jhin and his rapist for a long, long time._

_Because this wasn’t a one-off. This wasn’t the end._


	7. Neurotic Prey Animal

_"Get up."_

Jhin jolted awake almost immediately and nearly jumped out of his skin like a startled cat. He was always a light sleeper - the amount of nights on which he fully completed a REM cycle could be counted on one hand, and spending six entire years in Tuula Prison only made his insomnia worse.

The Virtuoso rubbed the sleep from his mismatching eyes - right eye blue, left eye brown - and did his best to get his frazzled hair under control as it was too short to braid and too uneven to pull up into a ponytail. On more casual days, when he had the time and the energy to groom himself, Jhin would tie it up in a low and messy little bun before slicking it all back so it will stay out of his face. But there was no hair styling in Tuula. The most Jhin could get was a half-assed trim, and even then he still had to beg for it.

_"I said **get up**!"_

Before Jhin could even say anything in return he was yanked out of bed by his shirt, making him gasp instead. The warden held onto the fabric of Jhin's shirt with an iron grip, something the Virtuoso was actually thankful for because it prevented him from tumbling down to the floor in a heap of limbs and clothes that were a size or two too big on him. Jhin's elongated fingers coiled around the warden's wrist at first but the moment he regained his balance he quickly raised both hands in surrender, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was forced, and didn't reflect in Jhin's eyes at all - nothing but another one of his many, many social masks.

 _"Now, now, there's no need to get violent."_ Jhin said in a dry laugh. _"We've known each other long enough for us to be friends, mmmm?"_ He hummed, his teasing smile growing wider. _"Are we not?"_

Jhin was playing with fire and he knew that perfectly well. It appeared as though Lady Luck was on the Virtuoso's side this morning however - all the warden did in response was roll his eyes and finally let go of Jhin's shirt, who, by some miracle, managed to stay on his feet unsupported. While patting himself down Jhin didn't take his eyes off the warden that came to see him for reasons unknown. The timing was off too, further adding to Jhin's confusion as this particular warden - as far he could remember - usually worked nights. And he just stood there, silent and motionless like a wax sculpture.

Jhin knitted his brows as an expression of confusion, mixed with some irritation at being woken up that crudely. What Jhin didn't let show was how terrified he was of what's to come, of the unknown. All his mind could conjure up at that moment were the horrific flashbacks that deprived him of sleep at night and ruined his concentration during the day. He felt cornered. But he couldn't let it show. He couldn't let it show.

Because showing vulnerability meant being put in your place. Violently.

 _"Do you mind telling me what's going on, Advik?"_ Jhin inquired with an almost sing-song voice that made the warden - Advik - groan.  
_"How many times did I tell you not to address me by my first name?"_

Jhin simply smiled, wider this time, to better conceal his nausea and unease. He then cocked his head to the side.

 _"Not enough times, as it appears."_ Jhin crooned.  
_"Whatever."_ Advik tossed a cloth package tied with thin rope Jhin's way, who caught it, a quizzical look on his face. He didn't notice Advik carrying anything when he came in. 

_"I-"_

Advik cut Jhin off almost immediately with what he said next.

_"You're being transferred."_


	8. The Truth Beneath The Rose

_Growing up, Jhin had a relatively normal upbringing. His family wasn’t exactly well-off but his parents earned enough money for them to lead a comfortable life, and he had a positive relationship with the both of them. Jhin considers himself to be an only child but he did in fact have an older brother he pretends never existed for reasons unknown to anyone but himself. The only thing he ever mentioned in regards to said brother is that he was the black sheep of the family and that despite their parents’ best efforts to show their love and support of him he chose to push them away and cut all contact with them when Jhin himself was a small child._

_Jhin thinks fondly of his mother and treats his father with respect, and while he was still kind of a weird and eccentric kid he was raised with good values and grew up to be well-behaved and mannerly, praised and admired by most of the adults in his early life. He was however picked on and scorned by his peers, something that haunts him to this day. Other children his age normally singled him out as odd and even freakish, bullying and humiliating him every chance they got to the point where Jhin would run back home crying and scared. He didn’t understand why they hated him so much and often expressed confusion and distress when his attempts at making friends would be met with laughter and ridicule. This led him to choose a relatively solitary lifestyle, further ostracizing himself from those he now considered a threat._

_The rather blatant contrast in the way he was treated by different people only fueled the confusion he felt about his inability to fit in with the rest of society. Instead of going outside to play with his classmates he would instead prefer to isolate himself in the company of canvases and books, as well as playing the piano – a skill he acquired from his mother who gave private music lessons to those interested in learning the instrument. To Jhin’s great dismay she fell ill and passed away while he was still in kindergarten. Her passing put a significant amount of strain on his relationship with his father who became cold and distant, practically leaving his son to fend for himself while he grieved. The loss of his mother and his father’s apathy towards him shattered Jhin’s already unstable mental state, the divide between them culminating in Jhin now resenting him and beginning to seek validation and approval elsewhere._

_Jhin found work as a stagehand sometime in his early teens. His interest in fine arts and theatre clashed with his father’s wish for him to become his successor however, as he wanted Jhin to inherit their family's dōjō and continue his legacy as its new Sensei. Jhin opposed to his father’s ideals and chose to immerse himself in art, dabbling in a little bit of everything at a time. He still underwent training at the dōjō and took personal offense at any criticism aimed its way, but his father now treated him as more of an unruly disciple than a son, and the reason Jhin even defended the dōjō’s honor was rooted in his own pride rather than any actual empathy he felt towards his father (he didn’t), who misinterpreted Jhin’s disdain as loyalty and acceptance of their family’s heritage._

_And as for when Jhin started killing and why....._


	9. The Premiere

_Jhin did inherit his father’s dōjō when the man grew too old to keep teaching, but he did not take his place as the new Sensei like his father originally wanted him to. Jhin fooled and manipulated him into thinking he would with relative ease considering his father began showing signs of dementia, eventually reaching a point where he was so cognitively impaired that Jhin didn’t even need to do much to make him forget – his father’s decaying brain did all the dirty work for him._

_Some time before his inevitable death however Jhin’s father still had enough in him to pass down his collection of daggers and knives to Jhin. They were a family heirloom of sorts, and Jhin, having been trained in the techniques needed to put them to good use, accepted the gift with a sense of accomplishment, viewing it as the most significant and also – tragically – the very last time his father treated him like a son._

_And still Jhin shed no tears over his father’s passing._

_The dōjō was closed down soon after Jhin’s father died, the young Virtuoso lying about needing some time to grieve before he reopens it. What Jhin actually did was turning it into his studio, hidden away from prying eyes, where he now practiced the various artistic crafts he’d picked up over the years. He aspired to become something more, something great, much greater than any other artist he had the pleasure to meet – he finally felt like he belonged, but at the same time he absolutely hated the idea of having competition. Jhin was still a young boy whereas most others were much older and more experienced than him. They had the reputation Jhin did not, and it infuriated him. Despite being good at what he did there was always someone better, and Jhin – being Jhin – wanted to outdo and upstage them all._

_The first life he took belonged to a woman only slightly older than him at the time._

_Jhin met her while traveling outside of town. He still worked at the theater, but he was also looking for new sources of inspiration to aid him in his own individual work, and she wanted to be an actress. She was excited to hear that Jhin worked at a theater, thinking that maybe he could get her connected with one of the directors, but Jhin had other plans for her, of course._

_He won her over rather quickly, being all smiles and compliments, playing into her fantasy of being a rising star in the industry. After a drink or two she even took him to bed with her. Jhin let her, squeezing every last droplet of fun he could out of her while she still breathed and sighed and moaned, but it was overshadowed almost immediately by the ecstasy he felt when she no longer did._

_As much as he hates admitting it, Jhin’s debut was sloppy and poorly orchestrated. The same could be said about his next few performances as it took him a good while to find his footing, experimenting with different methods and techniques in search of his own personal niche._

_Jhin’s initial M.O. was rather simple – he would pick out his next target and use his charm and charisma to earn their trust and adoration before whisking them away to a secluded location, then go in for the kill. These acts were at first reserved to himself and his victim only, with Jhin viewing them as rehearsals preceding his official premiere to the public eye. The bodies were still found but the connection between Jhin and the murders wasn’t made yet, and he preferred to keep it that way until he felt confident enough to come forth with the title role of the Artisan Killer, and later as Khada Jhin – the Golden Demon feared by the entirety of Ionia._

_The recognition Jhin yearned for ever since he was a child._


End file.
